


Plumb

by aquietdin



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Spoilers, ace characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-02
Updated: 2017-08-02
Packaged: 2018-12-10 01:27:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11681151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aquietdin/pseuds/aquietdin
Summary: Akira had always been there, a presence that locked itself into him from the moment they met. His friend, muse, inspiration. A plumb line from which he could judge the tilt of the world.





	Plumb

**Author's Note:**

> Contains true ending spoilers!

“Here, lean on my shoulder.”

Yusuke looked up. He didn’t recognize the face underneath the pointed mask, a head of black curls the only familiar feature. His chest hurt, breath stolen away, vision swimming with garish gold and artificial light. Painful. A nightmare surrounded him, making his stomach roll and head ache. He took the red gloved hand that was offered, and stood.

 

*

 

The atelier loomed in the setting sun. It had never looked so small before.

“How can I return to this place?” He asked. “How can I sleep here, now that I know the truth?”

The hand on his shoulder was warm and firm. “Bear it for now. We’ll take care of Madarame soon enough.”

He looked so different without his mask, carefully hiding the fire in his eyes behind a pair of thick rimmed glasses. “Kurusu. Thank you.”

“Akira’s fine.”

Yusuke watched them leave, hardly able to believe these were the same brazen warriors he’d seen inside the other world. How carefree they looked now, awkward and gangly, walking towards the station as though nothing had happened.

Akira turned back to look at him once before ducking around a corner.

 

*

 

He sat on the couch in the dusty attic and surveyed his surroundings. It reminded him of the studio, worn wooden floor and plaster walls. The smell of their hot pot still hung in the air, warm and sweet. Akira returned to the attic, scrubbing a towel through his damp, unruly hair.

“Thank you again,” Yusuke spoke quietly, “For allowing me to stay.”

Adjusting his baggy sleeping clothes, Akira gestured at the pitiful mattress in the corner. “You sure you don’t want the bed? I don’t mind.”

He shook his head. “I will be fine. I have slept in more awkward spaces.”

Akira shrugged, switching off the lights. A glow came in from the windows, the paper panes lit from the street lamps outside. Yusuke could make out the form of Akira and Morgana shuffling into bed, followed by silence. He shifted, doing his best to find a comfortable position on the couch, his legs far too long. He would make do. He had to.

Sleep did not come. Not for hours, if the distant ticking of Akira’s wristwatch was any indication. His mind was too busy, racing and rushing endlessly. Madarame. His fellow pupils that came and went. The works he’d spent all night on taken and sold off the next morning. His mother, who’s gentle smile he would only ever know in a painting. He’d spent so long lying to himself that the truth burned, a brand upon his heart that scorched through his veins.

He rolled to his side, tucking his face against the back of the couch. His eyes stung. Yusuke had found peace in the company of his new friends in the daylight, but now, in the quiet dark, it escaped him. He suppressed a sob with moderate success.

The rustling of fabric caught his ear a moment before a hand was on his arm. Yusuke halted his breath, caught, shame welling up inside.

“It’s okay.” Akira’s voice was gentle. “You’ve been through a lot.”

The words opened a floodgate. The cushion shifted as Akira sat, never taking his hand away.

 

*

 

Yusuke stared down at his friend’s sleeping form, strewn over the mattress as if he’d fallen into it, face pressed into his pillow and breathing softy. He must have collapsed there, having spent his night soothing away Yusuke’s tears instead of getting the rest he needed.

He didn’t have the heart to wake him, dressing quietly and gathering his things. Morgana opened an eye and regarded him with a nod as he left.

 

*

 

“Do you want to hang out upstairs?”

An invitation. Yusuke hastily agreed.

The art book he brought was one of his favorites, and to his joy Akira attentively listened, nodding from a nearby chair. After a chapter, he frowned, gesturing at a page.

“Sit here,” he said. “The illustrations are wonderful, and should be seen in closer detail.”

Akira did so without hesitation, crowding next to Yusuke on the couch and leaning close. And as he did, a warmth blossomed under Yusuke’s skin that had little to do with the summer heat outside.

 

*

 

Yusuke’s mind buzzed. After meeting with Kawanabe in the restaurant, he was more unsure of himself than ever. Art versus money, integrity versus security. He felt no closer to an answer than before, walking alongside Akira through Yongen. He wasn’t even sure why he’d gotten off the train.

“Do you want to come upstairs for a bit?” His friend asked abruptly. “It’s still early.”

Leblanc was crowded, patrons with coffee and cigarettes crowded into the small row of booths and along the bar. Boss nodded once to them as they passed, climbing the stairs in silence. Yusuke took to the little couch, setting down his bag and slipping out of his shoes.

“You alright?”

He pressed his palms together, clammy and damp. “I…”

Then Akira was next to him, close enough to feel the heat of his body, pressing in. An arm was around his shoulders, a hand wrapping around his bicep. Yusuke froze, then relaxed into the grip, leaning into Akira’s chest.

“Thank you.” He could feel his heart calming.

 

*

 

“I’m nearly finished.”

“Okay.”

The graphite scraped against the paper as he redrew the cut of Akira’s hip bone. His body was stronger than it appeared, Yusuke knew, slender arms and legs belying a magnificent power. Perhaps he trained outside of Palaces and Mementos.

“I think that is enough for today.”

When he would find the time for such training was beyond Yusuke. Akira never seemed to stop moving, even when sitting perfectly still.

“Can I see?”

Yusuke nodded. With his bedsheet around his middle, Akira shuffled over to the drawing pad and leaned in to look.

“Wow,” he breathed. Yusuke smiled as he put away his pencils.

“It was more difficult than I anticipated to capture you. You’re quite beautiful.”

There was a little gasp, and Yusuke looked up to find Akira’s surprised face, his eyebrows disappearing into his hair and cheeks beginning to darken with a flush. He drew in on himself, gripping at the sheet with a sudden modesty that seemed unlike him. Yusuke reached out and brushed a black curl away from Akira’s eyes.

 

*

 

“The last trains will be leaving soon.”

He could feel the words against his cheek, reverberating through Akira’s chest, muffled by the worn cotton of his shirt.

“May I stay?”

A beat of silence, then Akira pulled him close, tracing patterns on the back of his neck with calloused fingertips.

 

*

 

Outside the attic, Tokyo roared. He could hear it even now, in Yongen. The calling card was sent, there was no turning back now. The plan was set in motion. Yusuke gripped Akira’s hand until his felt his friend hiss in pain.

“I don’t like this.” He eased the pressure and let their fingers thread together. “What if something goes wrong? I won’t be able to protect you.”

“It’s a risk we have to take,” Akira’s voice was level. “It’s either me, or all of us.”

A growl of frustration and fear slipped out. Yusuke buried his face in the line of Akira’s neck.

 

*

 

“I’m going to change real quick.”

Akira passed them all and trotted up the stairs to the attic, a noticeable limp in his right leg. He’d come in from the police station looking ragged and exhausted, deep circles under his tired eyes and faint smudges of a bruise on his jaw. Yusuke left the team behind and followed.

At the top of the stairs he stopped, a gasp of horror catching. Akira froze in place, shirtless, jeans pulled halfway up his legs. His body was black and blue, deep bruises dotting his stomach and chest. The shape of fingers along his arms, angry purple, his right leg shaking where a gruesome mass of blood festered just below the surface of his thigh. Deep scrapes circled his wrists, the skin red and torn.

Yusuke’s stomach rolled at the sight, reaching out before he could stop himself to trace the wounds on Akira’s belly with trembling hands. “What have they done to you?”

“I’ll be alright.”

Yusuke pulled him close, and Akira relaxed in his arms.

 

*

 

“Can you fight?” Akira looked so tall, his Joker mask glinting in the blue otherworldly light. “I need you with me.”

Yusuke glanced up from his jail cell where he sat, wallowing in self pity. Akira had always been there, a presence that locked itself into him from the moment they met. His friend, muse, inspiration. His source of calm in the face of raging uncertainty. A plumb line from which he could judge the tilt of the world.

Yusuke pulled himself to his feet.

 

*

 

He was halfway to the train station when he doubled back. Snow was falling steadily, coating buildings in wet frost. Reality still seemed warped, the streets and buildings off kilter just so, the memory of Mementos clinging to his vision. He pulled out his phone to text Akira.

Inside the Leblanc attic, Yusuke rubbed at his arms while his friend lit the space heater, scrubbing his palms together against the cold. He was guided to the bed, where a heavy comforter was swung over his shoulders.

“Are you alright?”

Yusuke didn’t have an answer. He wanted to cheer and celebrate, to scream, to curl into a corner and cry. He wanted a brush and paper to capture the beauty of Santanael while it he could still see it in his mind. He wanted to shatter something fragile and sleep for weeks.

“...I am overwhelmed.”

Akira pulled him close, tucking them both under the comforter. A clock chimed downstairs.

“It’s Christmas,” Akira breathed into his hair.

Yusuke rubbed his nose against Akira’s collarbone. “I haven’t a gift to give you.”

A soft laugh. “Neither do I.”

Yusuke pushed Akira back, settling onto the mattress with a sigh. Akira was warm and solid, a comforting realness in his scent, coffee grounds and lingering sweat on his neck where Yusuke lay his face. A kiss was pressed against his scalp as strong arms wrapped all around him.

 

*

 

When he woke, Yusuke was alone in the attic, curled under the comforter that was now devoid of Akira’s warmth. It was late morning by the sun in the window. He rubbed at his eye and made his way downstairs, drawn by the scent of coffee.

Instead of Akira in his stained apron, it was Boss who solemnly greeted him, Futaba crying softly to herself at the bar. Otherwise the cafe was empty. Panic rose in Yusuke’s throat.

“Where is he?”

Boss set a cup of coffee on the counter and gestured at the chair. “Sit. I’ll explain.”

 

*

 

Ryuji punched the table, making cups rattle and spill their contents as he spewed profanity at no one. Ann wiped at her eyes, Haru handed her a tissue. It didn’t feel real anymore, sitting in Leblanc dressed in Akira’s spare clothes, holding a mug of coffee tight despite it burning his palms.

“Did he say anything to you, Yusuke?”

He didn’t look up at Boss’ question. “No. Nothing.”

There was silence as Yusuke watched the steam swirl upwards from his mug. Makoto spoke, breaking through his thoughts.

“You’re… together, aren’t you? You and Akira.”

Yusuke nodded once. The coffee went cold.

 

*

 

Eight weeks. Fifty Days. He could have counted the hours if he wanted, and now minutes ticked by, sitting in Leblanc with the rest of his team. Yusuke’s leg bounced in anticipation.

“I think I hear them,” Futaba whispered.

The bell on the cafe door chimed loudly. He strode in, bag over his shoulder, glasses and hair and sly smirk. All in one piece, safe. Free.

They gathered to greet him, crowding around. Akira humored them, one by one, until it was Yusuke’s turn. Weeks apart, no letters, no contact. He looked as though he’d lost weight, his hair desperately in need of a trim. He smiled at Yusuke, softly, a silent apology as he removed his glasses.

The clap of Yusuke’s palm against his cheek echoed through the cafe. The girls gasped in unison, Akira’s head snapping to his right.

“Dude, what the hell?” Ryuji roared. Akira shook his head.

“It’s okay,” he said, replacing his glasses. “I deserved that.”

There was a lump in Yusuke’s throat as he cupped Akira's face and kissed him softly.  Anger satisfied by the strike, he gathered Akira in his arms, squeezing. He could feel him chuckle, a small, airy sound that bounced through Yusuke's chest and settled deep within.


End file.
